


Just a Rough Patch

by WitheringStrider



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Break Up, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitheringStrider/pseuds/WitheringStrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's suffering through depression. The story is much better than the summary, I swear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Urges

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written anything for Jack or Mark, so, please, do be kind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a problem.

"... Anyway, that was it for this episode of Happy Wheels! I really do love all the different levels you guys make me. It makes me feel like I'm kinda in the game, and it's the main reason I really still do play. ANYWAYS, thank you guys so much for watching this video. If you like it, punch that like button IN the face, LIKE A BOSS! AND, high fives all around~! Whoopsh, whoopsh! And thank you guys, and I will see all you dudes, IN THE NEXT VIDEO!"

After finishing his outro, Jack shuts off all his recording equipment. Sighing softly, he rubs at his face with one of his hands while the other pushes himself away from his desk by wheeling his chair. Usually, he gets so very excited and pumped and happy when he plays Happy Wheels, but, as of late, nothing seems to be able to get him to feel even the smallest glimmer of joy. Or any other emotion, at that.

For a while, his depression was just filled of a constant, never-ending loneliness and such a deep sadness that his chest actually physically ached. But, now... now he just feels numb. Emotionless. Robotic.

Jack stands up slowly, his knees and back cracking and popping as he does so. He grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket, going to the kitchen to cook dinner. Well, that is, if when you say "cook dinner," you mean "pop a bowl of ramen in the microwave for three minutes."

Jack makes sure to break up the block of noodles before he opens the package. They cook better if you break them into smaller pieces, and it's easier to submerge them in the water.

After preparing his supper, Jack makes his way back to his room. He turns on some music on his computer, letting it play through his speakers, trying to get it to trigger some type of emotional response while he eats. The soup is still extremely hot. So hot, in fact, that it scalds the inside of his mouth, his tongue, and his throat as he eats, but it doesn't bother him. In fact, the pain is a welcome feeling. It gives him a small break through the constant, insistent numbness that inhabits his body.

When he finishes eating, Jack just sets the empty bowl down onto the floor, immediately going to work to edit the video he just recorded. The quality is nowhere near as good as it used to be, but he can always come up with an excuse as to why it's like this, like, he's trying out a new method of editing or something.

Jack checks his Internet speed before clicking on the Upload button on YouTube. He grabs his bowl from the floor, turning off his music and going back to the kitchen to wash his dishes. When he turns on the water, he only uses the hot water, letting it run in the sink until he sees steam before moving his hands under the spray to wash the bowl and spoon. It takes him longer to do so than normal, mainly by his own choice, and when he brings his hands out from under the flow to turn off the faucet, they're an angry, beet red. He stares at them for a moment before drying them off.

Jack makes his way back to his bedroom, turning his music back on before curling up under his covers on his bed. He pulls out his phone, quickly loading up his Skype app. 

Jack has a lot of messages from a lot of different people, but he ignores all of those and touches his finger to an already-read conversation. The one with his girlfriend.

Or, ex-girlfriend.

He knows he shouldn't call her his girlfriend anymore. Afterall, she did break up with him, and that was how the whole depression situation had started in the first place.

Jack re-read the conversation for what feels like it should be the fiftieth timee. Not out of self pity, though, oh no.

Just to try and feel something.

Jack remembers a quote from a game he saw Mark play a long, long time ago. Cry of Fear. At the beginning, the main character, Simon Henriksson, says something that really stuck with Jack. He can quote it by heart:

"I've always felt alone my whole life, for as long as I can remember.  
I don't know if I like it... or if I'm just used to it, but I do know this:  
Being lonely does things to you, and feeling shit and bitter and angry all the time just... eats away at you."

Jack has thought about this quote quite often recently. Is this, whatever Jack is experiencing, what Simon had been talking about? The transition from depression into numbness, and eventually into insanity?

Jack doesn't want to go mad.

Shutting off the screen for his phone, Jack buries his face into his pillow, sighing softly. He can sure use some rest...


	2. Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's masturbation in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised.

Waking up has always been a difficult thing for Jack to do, and it's only gotten worse. Oftentimes, he just lays in bed while he listens to his multiple alarms sound off.

Today is no different.

Jack stares at his phone with glossy eyes as he watches the last of his alarms light up the bright screen. Once the obnoxious, blaring sound finally comes to an end, he manages to pull his body up into a sitting position, hands moving to run through his hair and down his face as his mouth falls open wide with a yawn.

Just as he's about to move his legs over the side of his bed, Jack notices his phone lighting up once again. Normally, he would ignore it, so Jack has no idea why he picks up and unlocks his phone, touching his finger to the active conversation, the one with Mark. He knows that he would feel guilty for what he's reading if he weren't so numb.

Line after line of concerned text covers Jack's phone screen.

'Jack, are you okay?'

'Jack?'

'Jack, come on.'

'I know there's something wrong.'

'I can tell.'

'You won't answer, and you've been acting weird in your videos.'

'Jack.'

'Jack, answer me.'

'Jack!'

'Answer the damned call, Jack.'

In his haze, Jack hadn't noticed that he'd been getting calls between his numerous alarms. He makes quick work in formulating a short reply.

'im fine. dont worry about me.'

Mark's response to the message is to immediately send Jack a video call request.

Jack sighs softly and hauls himself over to his desk so that he can use the better camera and microphone, instead of the lousy phone ones. He quickly clicks the video answer button on the screen and pulls on his headphones. One glance of himself in the camera makes something inside him wince. He should shower.

When Mark's face appears on his screen, Jack eyes him skeptically.

"Fuck, man, when was the last time you slept? You look terrible," Jack states bluntly, raising an eyebrow at his (obviously very exhausted) friend.

"I... I couldn't sleep. I knew something was wrong, and when you didn't answer, I got really worried..." The concerned look on Mark's face should be more touching than it is.

"I'm... sorry. I was sleeping," Jack mumbles quietly.

"Yeah, I can see that." Mark pauses. "Jack?"

"Hmm? Yeah, Mark?"

"Are you okay?"

The sudden question makes Jack nibble at his lip momentarily before forcing a small smile and nodding quickly.

"Yeah, Mark! I'm grand!"

Jack doesn't feel the need to bother his friend with his problems. Mark's been through too much, and he certainly doesn't need any more on his already-overflowing metaphorical plate.

So Jack keeps his depression and problems to himself.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, dude. I'm perfectly fine!"

"If you're sure..."

"I am. You should get some rest, though, yeah? I need to go to the bathroom and shower and all that jazz, anyways."

"Yeah... yeah, okay, alright."

"Goodnight, Markimoo. I hope you sleep well!"

"Goodnight, Jackaboy..."

Jack ends up being the one that hangs up the call.

Pushing himself away from his desk carefully on his rolly chair, Jack quickly moves to gather some fresh pants and his phone before heading to the bathroom.

He pulls off his pants and hoodie, throwing them into the corner of the bathroom with the rest of his dirty laundry, before stepping over to the toilet and aiming himself. He relieves himself as quickly as he can before closing the lid and moving his radio from the back of the toilet and onto said lid. He hooks his phone onto the auxiliary cord and quickly chooses one of his heavy dubstep playlists.

After pressing play, Jack leans over to turn on the water for the shower, adjusting the volume of his music accordingly. He makes sure that the water is hot, but not too hot. He doesn't want to scald all of his skin.

Stepping into the shower, Jack closes the glass shower door and shudders softly at the feeling of the water immediately beginning to cascade down him. He lets the water wet his hair and body before reaching for his shampoo.

Quickly working the thick liquid into a nice lather in his hair, Jack sighs softly, forcing his body to move subtly to the music vibrating his bathroom. Rinsing the bubbles from his hair, he quickly grabs the bottle of conditioner and slather some through his short locks, making sure to cover then all evenly.

Picking up his body wash and loofah, Jack pours a courteous amount of the new liquid into the poofy, white object, before working it into a lather in his hands. He begins to rub it along his chest and arms, scrubbing away any sweat or grime or anything that may have built up from just sitting.

Working his way down his torso, Jack watches as his loofah leaves a thick, bubbly trail in its wake that coats everything it touches. From there, he makes quick work of cleaning his legs and feet, using the wall to balance so he doesn't topple over.

Jack rinses the lather off his body and out of his loofah, and the conditioner from his hair before grabbing the body wash again and squeezing some straight onto his hand. He looks down at his body for a moment before bringing the soapy hand to his member gently and giving it a small tug, as if testing the waters. Maybe he'll be able to feel pleasure as well as pain.

Well, he's going to find out soon enough.

Pressing his back against the wall of the shower, Jack twists and pumps his hand around his shaft slowly carefully avoiding going too close to the head. Not yet.

As the bass in the music picks up, so does the speed of Jack's hand, following the beat. He lets the music and pleasure build for a few moments before finally allowing his thumb to slide over the head. A low moan creeps up the back of his throat at the sudden tingle that the slip brings, and he presses harder back against the wall.

Jack's hand follows the beat of the music, slowing down and speeding up accordingly. He doesn't realize that the same song has been on repeat until he notices a familiar heat is building in the pit of his stomach from the same pattern of moment being repeated again and again.

Once he notices that feeling, however, Jack immediately pays more attention to the head instead of the shaft, teasing and twisting his hand around it needily, quickly breaking himself down into a constant stream of moans and occasional single-syllable words.

When the head coiling in his gut finally breaks, Jack finds himself calling out a name he doesn't really expect himself to be yelling.

Mark's.

Chest heaving and body shaking, Jack lowers himself down onto the shower floor, rinsing off his hand and member under the rapidly-cooling spray coming from the showerhead.

Reaching to turn off the water, Jack pulls himself back up into a standing position. He slides open the shower door, turns down the music, and grabs his towel.

Quickly drying off, starting with his hair and moving south from there, Jack grabs his new pants and pulls them on, before looking at himself in the mirror.

Why had he called out Mark's name? Should he tell his friend?


	3. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack does something bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!!!! I'd like to announce that the final chapter of this will be out by the end of May! Yay! Work and other things have been keeping me very preoccupied, but I promise, there will be an ending!!!

Grabbing his phone, Jack pulls himself from the bathroom and goes back to his bedroom, falling face-first onto his mattress. He turns his head and pulls his phone up to his face and unlocks it, once again opening the skype app.

Should he talk to Mark and tell him about what had happened? About the shower? About calling out his name as he came? After thinking about it for a few moments, Jack shakes his head and buries hi face back into his covers, locking his phone. He shouldn't talk to Mark about it, at least not until he finds out why it happened. Besides, Mark is sleeping, and he wouldn't want to wake his sleeping companion.

After laying there contemplating going to the store for longer than he'd intended to, Jack hauls himself up from the bed and begins to search around for a generally clean hoodie. When he finds one, he pulls the gray cloth over his head and pulls up the hood. He picks up his phone and wallet, putting them into his rear pockets, and heads out into the kitchen. Picking up his keys from the counter, he quickly shoves them into his hoodie pocket before gazing around to see if he's forgetting anything.

After deciding that he hasn't forgotten anything, Jack quickly leaves his apartment, making sure the door shuts and locks behind him. He decides to take the stairs down to the first floor, as he's only on the third, and could use the exercise.

Once outside of the complex, Jack quickly makes his way towards the closest convenience store, carefully avoiding people, but also keeping his head down and hood up. He doesn't want to get recognized by any fans right now.

The store is less than a five minute's walk away from his apartment complex, so it doesn't take Jack long to get there. Once inside, he quickly heads to the back corner, where the razors and razorblades are kept. After a quick scan of the wall, his eyes land on what he's searching for.

A ten-pack of disposeable, replacement, stainless steel double-sided razor blades.

After picking up the pack, he briefly stops by the small refrigerator section to grab an energy drink before heading to the cashier counter to pay for his items. The woman behind the counter doesn't question his choice of merchandise, taking his money, returning his change and reciept, and sending him on his way.

Quickly making his way back to his apartment complex, Jack takes the stairs back up and locks himself in his little cubby of the building. He sets his bag on the table, taking the energy drink out and placing it in the fridge to ensure it would be nice and cold when hed want to drink it later.

Pulling out the razor blades, Jack stares at them for a moment before carrying the small package into the bathroom.

Taking one of the sharp blades from its confines, Jack runs his thumb along the edge, not applying any pressure, to see how sharp it is. Once satisfied with his results, he twirls it between his fingers carefully, watching the light dance off the sharp metal. Once he's had enough toying with his purchase, he grips it tightly between his fingers and closes the toilet seat to give himself a makeshift chair. He pulls a towel over his lap after he sits down.

With a deep breath, Jack presses one side of the blade against the pale white of the inside of his left wrist, slicing the creamy skin slowly he hums softly as he pulls the blade away, watching the brush red blood well up from the perfect cut on his wrist.

After the initial cut, Jack moves quickly to make more idental cus down his entire forearm. Many more. He loses count of how many after thirty-three.

When Jack finally pulls the blade away from his arm, blood drips delicately from the sharp edge and onto the towel. His eyes follow the droplet down to the fuzzy towel, and his eyes are met with a gruesome sight. The towel is absolutely soiled amd ruined with the red of blood.

Putting the blade down onto the cuter of the sjnk, Jack picks up the towel and drapes it over his forearm before applying gentle pressure to the wounds. He waits for a while like that before peeling the towel away with a soft, wet sound. When he sees that most of the blood has stopped, he throws the towel to the floor and gets up to stand in front of the sink.

Turning on the water, Jack pushes his arm under the stream to rinse the blood off. The water running over the appendage is tinged with oink and red as it does its job. He runs his opposite hand over the wounds to feel the damage and aid in the cleaning process.

Pulling his arm from under the spray of water, Jack turns off the faucet and grabs a new towel to dry off with.

After dabbing his arm dry, Jack reaches into the cubby under his sink and pulls out some gauze and an ace bandage. With some difficulty, he actually manages to dress his wound properly.

Leaving the dirty towel on his floor for later, Jack goes to his room and collapses onto his bed, laying there for a moment before pulling out his phone. He quickly plugs it into the charger, noticing that it's almost dead.

He loads up skype and scrolls down to Mark's name, opening the chat with him. Biting his lip, he decides to type out a message.

'I did something bad to myself. But I don't feel bad about it.'

And another.

'I lied. I'm not okay. Everything's not alright.'

And a last.

'Please, help me.'


End file.
